


Another Bleeding Heart

by KMDWriterGrl



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/KMDWriterGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A "between the scenes" fic for "Minimal Loss," this is my rendition of events from Emily's POV, which segues into a Rossi/Prentiss post-ep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Bleeding Heart

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the work and the lyrics featured inside are from Alex Parker's "Another Bleeding Heart," featured in the movie "The Life of David Gale."

_“Thou shalt not kill,” cry from calvary's hill. But a soul is a soul as we slaughter our own.Locked in a cage and guns at our heads, singing gospels of rage, saying they're better off dead.One wick of the skin wipes away sin. An eye for an eye, it's our hearts we're losing.” -“Another Bleeding Heart,” Alex Parker._

ROSSI:

 

Dave Rossi always tried to be as professional as possible when he was around the team, but as soon as JJ showed them the newscast from the deeply stupid news crew outside the compound (sorry, JJ, of course he meant a “ranch”), he couldn’t hold back the stream of curses that tumbled from his mouth. 

 

“Of all the goddamn, son of a bitching–“ He slammed his fist into the side of the mobile command center, not caring about the shocks of pain that sang up the nerves in his arm. “What the fucking hell made them think it was a good idea to announce that?!” 

 

“They weren’t thinking,” JJ replied. “They care about the story, not the players involved.” She looked distressed. “What’s this going to do to Reid and Emily?”

 

He ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “Cyrus is going to blow a fuse,” he replied to JJ. “And with an ego like his, that’s going to short circuit every wire in his mental fuse box.”

 

“What does that mean exactly? What’s going to happen in there, Dave?”

 

He didn’t want to meet her eyes but he’d never soft-pedaled the truth– he wasn’t going to start now. 

 

“It’s going to get ugly,” he replied. “Hope for the best, JJ, but prepare for the worst.”

 

He left her to do damage control and began walking in tight circles around the command center. 

 

 

Reid and Emily. Shit. Why did it have to be Reid and Emily? They’re the mentalists, the most intellectually driven members of an incredibly saavy team. It’s why they’d been assigned to go in to the compound in the first place– their psychology backgrounds made them ideal to play the part of social workers or child advocates. 

 

It’s not like they can’t take care of themselves– he’s seen Emily on the firing range, he KNOWS what she can do with a gun– but it won’t be strategy and smarts that win this day. Put Reid and Emily in a room with five men with shotguns and there’s no way the two of them can immobilize them all. 

 

He checked the gun holstered at the small of his back. It wasn’t likely he’d go in with the initial SWAT team, but he liked knowing he had his weapon at the ready, just in case he was needed. 

 

“Put your guys on stand-by,” he instructed the head of the SWAT team. “And get ready to go in when things start to go south.”

 

Hotch’s voice came from the mobile command center, calling him to the listening station where he handed Rossi a pair of headphones. 

 

“They’re miked. Listen.”

 

Cyrus’ voice filtered in, preternaturally calm but with an undercurrent of steel.  

 

“Which one of you is it? Which one of you is the FBI agent?” 

 

He heard the rustle of cloth, the distinct sound of a gun being pulled from a waistband, and knew that Cyrus was aiming at one of his people. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his mind, which was beating wildly against the possibility that Reid or Emily might not make it out alive. Losing either was unthinkable. But losing Emily– it made his chest throb and his stomach turn to ice just to think about it.   

 

Reid’s voice came across the channel, calming, a note of puzzlement in it. “Why do you think one of us is as FBI agent?”

 

Rossi heard a slight intake of breath from Reid and knew exactly where Cyrus’ gun was pointed. “Placate him, Reid,” he thought frantically, as if the young man could hear him. “Placate him but don’t patronize. He’ll flare up if he thinks you’re playing stupid.” 

 

 

Cyrus’ voice again, still steely, still calm. “God will forgive me for what I must do.”  

 

Another intake of breath, this one sharper. Everyone at the listening post froze. 

 

No. No. No. God, no. Please, no. Sweet Jesus, no. Not now. Not them. Not like this. Not him. Not her. Please god, not her. 

 

Reid’s voice again, hedging, buying time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

 

“Stop, Reid.” Rossi’s mind was whirling at a hundred miles an hour in his fruitless attempt to telepathically make Reid hear him. “Stop denying. Own up to it. He’ll forgive if you own up to it now.”

 

Cyrus’ voice got more impatient. “One of you does. Who is it?”

 

There was a long pause, during which everyone held their collective breath. 

 

“Admit it,” Rossi thought frantically. “Admit it. Someone own up to it. Don’t make it worse. Stall any longer and he’ll think you’re playing him for a fool.”

 

And then Emily’s voice, resigned but still strong. “Me. It’s me.” Unspoken was: “leave Reid out of this.” 

 

Oh shit.

 

There was a sound of scuffling and Emily yelled. The mic cut out for a moment or two, whatever Cyrus was saying drowned out by the sound of a body being dragged along the floor. 

 

Hotch half rose from his chair, his fingers tightening on the edge of the desk. Morgan’s fists were clenched tight around the headphones. Rossi noticed his own hands were balled into fists, too, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, uncurl them. 

 

When the mic cut back in again, they could just make out Cyrus yelling, “I told you not to put me in this position.” The unmistakable sound of a fist hitting flesh pounded over the channel. Emily cried out and all of the men listening over the headphones winced. 

 

 

Emily. All the blood rushed out of Rossi’s face. He wanted to propel himself to his feet in anger but couldn’t– he was frozen in his chair, clinging to the headphones, not wanting to listen to the sound of punches and slaps but unable to pull himself away from it. 

 

The sound of another blow came across the channel and of a body–Emily’s– hitting the floor. Emily groaned, a deep, agonized sound that made Hotch tear off his headphones in anguish. Rossi sympathized– he wanted to make the same move, but found himself once again unable to remove the headphones. 

 

“We’ve got to send them in!” Hotch half-yelled.

 

As if he didn’t know that. As if he didn’t want to go pounding in there right now, gun blazing. But he shook his head and said firmly, “We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.”

 

Cyrus’ voice snarled across the channel again. Emily must have been fighting back, because he sounded angry and winded. “Get up!”

 

Another thud, another groan from Emily, the sound of glass smashing. Rossi couldn’t keep himself from wincing, imagining Emily lying in the middle of broken glass, bleeding. “The Bible tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil,” Cyrus snarled and there was more scuffling, another thud, and Emily gasping for breath. Then her voice, still strong, said on a gasp, “I can take it.” 

 

It enraged Cyrus still further, this perceived challenge. After all, he was used to submissive women. Fury was apparent in his voice as he growled, “Oh, you can take it, huh?” 

 

Morgan slammed his fist into his palm and pulled the headphones away from his ear, as if distancing himself from the sound of the beating would stop it from happening. Hotch was bent nearly double over the table, his own fists clenched, pain written all over his face. 

 

It was like the car accident you couldn’t look away from, listening to the sound of those blows raining down on the woman he– 

 

He was only half-listening now, trying to distance himself from it. But then her voice penetrated and he gripped the headphones tighter. 

 

 

“I can take it,” Emily breathed. 

 

Rossi focused on the words, trying to push past the pain in her voice.  

 

“Wait, wait, listen. Listen to what she’s saying.” 

 

“She’s antagonizing him!” Morgan practically yelled. 

 

Rossi shook his head, concentrating. “She’s not talking to him.” 

 

Hotch caught on immediately.  “She’s talking to us, she’s telling us not to come in.” He shook his head, obviously not agreeing, but unable to do anything else.  

 

“Pride comes before the fall,” Cyrus ground out. 

 

There was a final thud, footsteps crunching away, and then nothing except Emily’s ragged breathing. 

 

“I’m okay,” she whispered, just for them, her voice thin and thready. “I’m okay. I can take it.” 

 

Rossi clenched his fists, pressed his head back against the chair. He’d have given anything in the world to be able to answer her right then, anything to whisper back a reassurance. 

 

***

PRENTISS:

 

Focus. She had to focus. There were women and children and she needed to get them out. Reid was still in the church, and she had to get him out, too. Focus. No time for pain. No time for fear. Focus. 

 

They made their way down to the basement, swiftly and quietly. She kept to the end of the group, waving people forward, making sure there were no stragglers to fall behind– or to intentionally stay behind to warn Cyrus. 

 

 

There was a familiar smell in the basement and she barely had time to process what it was– the smoke from a stun grenade– before she found herself face to face with Morgan, Rossi, and the rest of HRT, backed up by the SWAT guys. 

 

“Emily! Emily, thank god.” The look of relief on Morgan’s face was quickly replaced by anger at the sight of her bruised face. “Where’s Reid?”

 

Too fast. Everything was happening too fast. She had to really think for a moment to answer. “He’s ... up on the first floor, in the chapel, with Cyrus.”

 

“Okay, we have to get you out of here,” Rossi said, his face taut with tension. His hand closed over her arm and she winced when his fingers grazed the cuts from the mirror Cyrus had flung her into. 

 

“Me? No, we’ve got to get Reid!” She started to push forward, to head back to the stairs. Morgan stopped her.

 

 “I’ll get him. You get to safety. Listen to Rossi.” 

 

Rossi hustled her out before she could protest. The last thing she heard was the faint thuds of Morgan vaulting up the stairs. Then Rossi’s hand was on her back and he was urging her forward. 

 

“Reid,” she protested, glancing back, hating to leave him there. 

 

“Let Morgan get him. We need to get these kids out of here.” 

 

They were running now, moving as quickly as they could in the low tunnel that seemed to get lower the further they went. It was her imagination, she knew that– she’d been in the tunnels before and they were all the same height and width. It was the three days without sleep, the blows to the head that were making her imagine it. Nevertheless, she ducked her head, even though she knew rationally that she had plenty of clearance, and ended up stumbling, falling to one knee. 

 

“Emily. Emmy, come on.”

 

Rossi. His hands on her waist, helping her up, pushing at her to move forward.

 

A gust of cooler air signaled that they were out from under the church and into the clear ground between the church and the school. Emily quickened her pace, hurrying for the exit. 

 

 

A crackling explosion rent the air and the tunnel shook. Dirt showered down from the ceiling to dust her hair. She pitched forward as the floor heaved and fell hard on her hands and knees. Rossi toppled, too, landing half on top of her, half on the floor. Screams echoed down the tunnel from the people ahead of them. 

 

She lay there for a moment underneath Rossi, her mind briefly entertaining a wild scenario that involved him on top of her in a non-emergency capacity, then shook her head to clear it. Rossi was trying to lever himself off of her, presumably so he wouldn’t hurt her any more than she all ready was. 

 

“You okay? Can you make it?”

 

“I’m good.” Emily got to her feet, knowing that her voice and appearance made the words a lie. “Come on.”

 

In the school house, women and children were filtering out the doors and into the courtyard. Emily limped out behind Rossi, her fingers catching onto the back of his vest to keep from losing him in the sudden melee. 

 

The church was on fire– what was left of it. The explosion had ripped chunks of masonry out of the top and sides of the building. Debris was everywhere– a smoky haze filled the early morning air, swirling in the beams from emergency arc lights. 

 

“Morgan! Reid!” Emily hurried toward the building, hoping against hope that the two men had survived the explosion. She scanned, looking–

 

There they were. Both were stumbling, bent double with coughing, but alive. Emily half ran, half fell up the steps, calling their names. 

 

Reid caught sight of her and blinked a few times to register her presence. Then he practically fell into her open arms. She leaned against him, holding on tight, reassured by the feel of his slender body. Though not a hugger by nature, Reid certainly wasn’t letting go, so she reasoned he must have been taking some comfort from it, too. 

 

“Thank god, thank god.” She moved to Morgan, found herself on the opposite end of a hard, reassuring hug that felt tight enough to break her in two. “Where’s Jessie?” she asked, looking up at her team mate. 

 

 

Morgan shook his head and took her arm. “Come on. You, too, kid,” he called to Reid. 

 

Emily had a moment, only one, to stop in front of Jessie’s mother who was standing, shell shocked, staring at the shattered front doors of the church. Not enough time to say anything, but long enough to exchange a meaningful look. 

 

Then Morgan and Reid were flanking her and she was following Rossi and Hotch back to the mobile command center where ambulance lights were all ready flashing red and blue. 

 

 

ROSSI:

 

When he got a good look at her face, he had to fight the urge to punch someone. The entire left side of her face was discolored with heavy bruising on her cheekbone and around her eye. The swelling had gone down since yesterday– he could only imagine what it must have looked like right after it had happened. 

 

She sat on the back tailgate of the ambulance with an ice pack on the side of her face, refusing to lie down. She’d fussed over JJ, Reid, and Morgan, even fussed over him a little, but she hadn’t bothered to pop the painkillers she’d been offered or stretch out on the gurney in the ambulance or on the couch inside the mobile command center. 

 

“I’ll sleep on the plane,” she said when she caught him watching her. 

 

The blood on her shirt made him ball up his fists again. There was so much of it. Yeah, bloody noses tended to gush, he knew that, but seeing the blood all over her shirt, the stains that had seeped through from the cuts on her arms made him feel slightly ill. Not because he was squeamish– because it was Emily. 

 

“At least have those cuts tended to and change into something that isn’t bloody,” he said, sternly enough that she knew better than to argue.

 

Emily nodded and rose to her feet. “My go-bag–“

 

“It’s in the mobile unit,” he said. “We picked it up from the hotel.”

 

He followed her in and waited by the door, making sure no one else stepped in while she was changing. Like a gentleman, he averted his eyes, though he would have given anything to catch a glimpse of Emily’s bare skin at that moment. 

 

 

The shirt she changed into was a light grey v-neck sweater with three-quarter length sleeves. He could clearly see the cuts on her forearms and wrists where her skin had been sliced by pieces of shattered mirror. 

 

“Here,” he said, “let me help you with those.”

 

Emily looked doubtful– what EMT skills did he have, after all?– then nodded. “Okay. I don’t want to deal with other people right now anyway.”  

 

“Sit down while I get the kit.” He rummaged for the first aid kit in the medical chest longer than he had to, giving his emotions a moment or two to settle. He didn’t want her to look at him and be able to see the turmoil that her injuries were stirring in him. 

 

“We’ll be able to clear out of here soon,” he said, moving to sit next to her on the couch. “Maybe in a few hours. Then we’ll head home.”

 

“Good. Colorado seems to have lost its appeal,” she said drily. She winced when he began cleaning the cuts with bactine spray. “Ouch, Dave!”

 

“Sorry. Just trying to be thorough.” He carefully cleaned each cut with water, then with bactine, and then dried the area before applying antibiotic ointment and a bandage. She jerked when he touched a particularly nasty cut and he tightened his grip on her arm, wincing that he’d hurt her. “Be still. Almost done.” He finished his first aid on her arms. “Will you let me take a look at your face?”

 

“It’s nothing. I’ve had worse.” 

 

“For my own peace of mind.”

 

Emily looked surprised. “O ... kay. Yeah, if it makes you feel better.”

 

Rossi laid a hand on the back of her head and steadied her face with fingers curved lightly around her jawbone. He examined the injuries, probing with gentle fingers. Emily shut her eyes as he touched her. 

 

“Emmy, I wish to god you hadn’t let yourself do that,” he whispered. 

 

Her eyes opened and focused on him.

 

 

“That’s the second time you called me Emmy today.”

 

Aw, damn. He hadn’t even realized he’d let it slip. It was a strange sort of reflex, one he had hoped wouldn’t cross over into his day-to-day life. He should have realized though– he called her Emmy so often in his daydreams, it was only inevitable he’d one day forget himself and use it in front of her.

 

“Oh yeah?” He hoped he was playing it cool enough.

 

“When we were in the tunnel. That was the other.” She looked uncertain. “You DID call me Emmy, right?”

 

He was tempted to let her think it was her imagination, that the noise of the explosion had affected her hearing. But it wouldn’t be right ... and admitting it now just might make it easier down the road to admit ...

 

“I did. I shouldn’t have. It slipped.”

 

“What do you mean, you shouldn’t have?” Emily laid a hand on his wrist and squeezed lightly.  

 

“I know you prefer Emily. Emmy’s just– kind of the way I like to think of you sometimes.”

 

She cocked her head quizzically. “What do you mean?” 

 

He pursed his lips, not wanting to give too much away, then gave a mental shrug– to hell with it. 

 

“Term of endearment, I guess. Emmy’s– a little softer than Emily. She’s not always on alert. She walks in the snow at night. She dances with Morgan to all the old-school 90s songs. She eats cheesecake at midnight in the sit room when she thinks no one’s looking.” He was amused at the way a blush rose on her cheeks at that last. “You thought I didn’t notice? I’m a profiler, sweetheart ... I notice everything.”

 

It was his turn to blush as the realization hit home that he’d let slip another one of his pet names for her. He felt his cheeks reddening. So much for composure!  

 

 

“Damn. I think we need to pretend we never had this conversation,” he said, laughing lightly. He moved his hand from the side of her face and stood to go. “I’ll be outside, helping Hotch clear up. Why don’t you stay here and get some rest.”

 

He was almost at the door when she called his name. “Rossi.”

 

He turned, wondering what he’d see on her face ...

 

 ... A smile quirking at the corners of her mouth that barely concealed her delight. He knew in that moment that Emily Prentiss had never had an affectionate nickname bestowed upon her before and she was genuinely touched by this one. 

 

And there was desire there, too, which floored him. Nothing passionate. Nothing terribly heated, even. He didn’t take that personally just now– they were both still tense and upset from the events of the last three days and that was enough to make even the hottest libido run at a low ebb. But it was there– just enough warmth and sparkle in her eyes to make him hope.  

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Emmy’s fine. Just ... not in front of anyone else, okay?

 

He gave her a calm half smile, though inside he was jumping for joy. “It’s a deal. Get some rest.”

 

He headed back outside and joined Hotch and the others, his mouth turned up just a little at the corners. 

 

END. 

 


End file.
